


on the streets where once was pity

by heartsinhay



Category: Tiger & Bunny
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:29:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsinhay/pseuds/heartsinhay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard to really know a guy until you've had at least half a beer with him. Keith Goodman hangs out with the Bull Tank of the West Coast, goes to a monster truck rally, and sings a very loud song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on the streets where once was pity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spring_gloom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spring_gloom/gifts).



Sometimes he speaks to the city, but only when no one’s around.

He knows it’s a bit strange, knows he should have grown out of it back when he was ten and talked to a pink kangaroo named Clarabel, but sometimes he just wants to tell Stern BIld that it’s safe. Sometimes he gets the urge to fly all the way up to the statue of Ms. Justice and whisper in her ear.

Today he stops two muggings and one dog walker who wasn’t cleaning up his best friend’s poop and one person who was crossing the street when the light was red, which was an irresponsible decision because it was dark out and you couldn’t see very far down the road, so there could’ve been a drunk driver going very fast, and, anyway, Keith knows enough about traffic laws to know that jaywalking is against them.

He writes that all down in his journal, neat, blocky print filling nearly half of the page, along with some minor details about John’s dietary habits. It’s usually easier to write if he pretends that he’s speaking to somebody (usually his grandmother), and of the things that Keith talks to that aren’t actually other people, his journal is all the way up there with Stern Bild, the funny little microphone he has to speak into to unlock his apartment, and himself. He speaks to John, too, but John counts as a person.

He writes down the list. On paper, taking up exactly five lines (Keith is a big believer in bullet points), the list seems diminished, cramped down into two dimensions. It does not seem like enough.

He wants to talk to John. No—that’s not it. He wants to talk to someone who will answer him in words.

He could call his boss, who was so nice to him back when he was a rookie, then King of Heroes, rocketing to the top of the rankings and the top of the world. He could call Origami Cyclone, who teamed up with him last time to catch that horrible man on roller skates. He could call Ms. Agnes, and they could do an interview.

He could call anyone. The phone is right at the edge of the sofa, within arm’s reach.

He does not move.

 

The next day, Keith is doing barbell curls in reps of fifteen when Mr. Bison (or maybe that should be Mr. Antonio, since he’s not in costume) comes up next to him. He pauses.

“Heard you picked up a jaywalker,” he says, “Luis told everyone in the whole damn neighborhood.”

“Yes,” says Keith, “I did.”

He looks at Mr. Antonio, then pauses, glancing quickly away, then looks at Mr. Antonio again.

“Why are you covered in garbage?”

“Oh,” says Mr. Antonio, picking a bit of rotten fruit out of his hair, “This. The girl upstairs dropped her teddy bear, and I tried to catch it, but I missed and fell into the Dumpster.”

“That was the deed of a good hero,” says Keith, solemnly, “And again, that was what a good hero would have done!”

“Yeah, well. By the time I found the bear, she didn’t want it anymore. And now I gotta get cleaned up before I get to the stadium.”

“Are you giving a concert? No, that’s Blue Rose’s job—are you appearing at a baseball game? That’s my favorite kind of appearance, especially when you get to throw the first pitch. I don’t have many of those this season, though. My schedule is clear as the skies were last Tuesday!” He mimes throwing it, an underhand fastball like the kind he throws for John.

“Kinda. Not exactly. It’s a monster truck rally.”

“Ah! Do you get to drive a truck? Do you have to wrestle one? Do you land from being launched out by your cannon and lift a truck up with each arm?”

“Something like that.”

Keith nods in understanding and Mr. Antonio goes off towards the showers. Halfway there, though, he stops and turns around.

“Hey, uh. If you’re that excited, I got a car taking me there in half an hour. I can talk to my boss and get you a ticket or something.”

 

He’s never been to a monster truck rally, but it’s exactly as he thought! There are races, and then one truck crushes another beneath its giant wheels, and then Mr. Bison comes out of the sky and crushes that truck, too. Then he has to pick up one truck in each hand, and rushes head-first at another, colliding with its fender stuck in his horns. There is something beautiful about the sound of crumpling steel, Keith thinks: it’s a horrible sound when it comes from the metal girders of a building full of civilian, but when it’s in an arena, broadcast from speakers about a foot high, it’s beautiful.

Afterwards, he goes backstage, and helps Mr. Bison’s get his horns out of the truck. 

“Congratulations!”

“Huh?”

“You were very good. Bringing happiness to the citizens of Stern Bild—isn’t that every hero’s job?”  
“Uh, yeah,” says Mr. Bison, “I’ve been doing this ever since I started as a hero. Kotetsu comes with sometimes, near the end, but mostly it’s just an excuse to go drinking afterwards. I mean, he used to, before he retired.”

“Would you like to? I know a café that sells the best lemonade in the city! When my best friend John and I go on walks, we often stop there to have some.”

“I’m not exactly talking about a café…”

 

They end up in a dingy place with stained counters and a sign that used to be neon reading BAR above the door. Ah. Mr. Bison meant alcohol. Keith goes up to the counter, and flashes his best Fire Emblem smile.

“Mr. Bartender,” asks Keith, “May I have a drink, please?”

“What kind?”

“Um. The large kind?”

Mr. Bison snorts and gently pushes Keith aside.

“Tony, can I have two beers?”

Keith sits down, politely refraining from mentioning Stern Bild Health and Safety standards, and stares into the beer he’s presented with. He usually doesn’t drink—as King of Heroes, he doesn’t want to set a bad example. Former King of Heroes.

“You know, uh, you don’t have to,” says Mr. Bison, awkwardly, “I can have ‘em both.”

Keith thinks about it. He remembers the assembly in ninth grade that was especially so that the principal could tell them to just say no, but also that, the last time they talked; Mr. Fire encouraged him to try new things. Besides, if he hasn’t tried it, how can he go up in front of the ninth graders of tomorrow and tell them not to? He doesn’t like it when he has to give assemblies on things he really doesn’t know that much about. 

He takes a deep breath, and lets it out, and then picks up the beer and takes a long swig.

“It tastes strange,” he says, and tries it again, and also tries not to think about Stern Bild Health and Safety standards. Mr. Bison digs around in his purse, and takes out a small container of gyuudon, beef congealing slowly on top of cold rice.

“Here. It’ll help with the hangover.”

“Thank you, and, again—“

“You’re welcome.”

The gyuudon’s good, even cold, although Keith suspects that’s because it was prepared carefully by the hands of a friend, and offered with friendship and a warm smile.

“You’re a good cook, Mr. Bis—Mr. Antonio.”

“A man’s gotta know how take care of himself.”

Mr. Bison drinks some himself, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Keith doesn’t really know how to cook that well: he pours dog food out for John, and knows how to put food in the microwave for exactly forty-five seconds, and then wait for it to cool before fetching it out, but that’s about it. Perhaps he should learn. He could take classes.

“Seriously, though, you’ve never had a beer before? Not even with your friend John?”

“Mr. Bison,” says Keith, “John is a dog.”

“Oh.”

He takes a drink. It tastes vile, and Keith thinks of the strange puddles of liquid pooled on the counter, and the spiderwebs on the ceiling. There is a dark shape at the bottom of his glass, and even though Keith tells himself that it’s just a shadow, he can’t help but think of a spider plummeting down into his drink, its legs twitching as it slowly drowns in—

“Actually, Mr. Bison,” says Keith, “You can have the rest.”

 

After Mr. Bison has about six and a quarter beers, he decides to teach Keith a song and call Mr. Wild all the way in Oriental Town. He’s set speakerphone to the highest volume, and Mr. Wild (but not his daughter Kaede, no matter how much Mr. Wild begged) are singing along with them, Antonio marking time by tapping fingers on the table and Keith conducting in the air.

Antonio forgets most of the lyrics, but that’s alright, because Keith never knew them anyway, and Mr. Wild maintains that he can’t sing that kind of stuff around his darling Kaede-chan. Antonio’s voice is good, strong and low and smooth in a way that reminds Keith of the protagonist of _Wild West Town: The Sheriff Returns_ , and Keith’s had voice lessons so he could record lines for Ace Flanagan in his special guest episode of _Mathbusters_ , and even though Mr. Wild really can’t sing, his heartfelt emotion shows through, which is what really matters.

“That’s the moral of episode 19 of Mathbusters,” he tells Antonio, halfway in the middle of the chorus, “Doing everything with gusto and passion, no matter what your ability is, because the point is to try your hardest and make precious memories with your friends.”

“Yeah,” says Antonio, “Sure thing.”

 

He has to leave at eleven, because he’s waking up extra early tomorrow to take Ms. Cho’s third-grade science class to the park and teach them a lesson about the importance of protecting the environment, and Antonio decides to head home too.

“See you tomorrow,” he says, waving, and Keith waves back as he leaves, humming that one song to himself as he strolls down tree-lined streets. 

Sometimes he wishes that he could save everybody, that he had eyes big enough to see the entire city and winds fast enough to stop every crime before it even started. Sometimes he wishes that was King of Heroes again, and never disappointed anybody and always made his bosses and his friends as proud of him as they could be. Sometimes he wishes he had a lifetime’s supply of chocolate.

Today, though, he thinks that he can go drinking again with Antonio and order only root beer and lemonade, and maybe Mr. Wild will drive down to Stern Bild for the weekend, and maybe they can invite Mr. Fire and Mr. Bunny and Origami Cyclone and Blue Rose and Dragon Kid and even Ms. Agnes, and they can all sing together, all the heroes of Hero TV, loudly and with spirit.

Sometimes, he’s just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I blabber about this fic in [my author's notes]().


End file.
